


where the lovelight gleams

by teamcap



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas, Christmas Tree, Fluff, Holidays, Just squint, M/M, it's more uh minor stevebucky but thats fine, mostly anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamcap/pseuds/teamcap
Summary: “I’m glad you’re here, Buck,” he says, because he can’t say anything else right now no matter how badly he wants to. Glad doesn’t begin to describe it, to explain how Steve spent so long feeling like he was walking along and he was missing part of his body, like someone had taken his arm or his leg or his heart. How he could feel it even under the ice, even when there was nothing else.





	where the lovelight gleams

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays :) this is a commission for my friend amanda, i hope you all enjoy!

They’re six trees and twenty minutes in when Steve decides that all Christmas trees look the same.

“They do not,” Bucky says. “You’re whiny.”

“They do. Every tree we’ve seen so far has looked the same,” Steve protests. “And besides that, it’s cold as shit out here. So remind me why we’re doing this, oh wise one?”

“To get you into the holiday spirit, jackass. You need it.” Steve scowls at him. 

“We can’t even afford a tree, Buck.”

“Sure we can,” Bucky says. He strolls along, stopping at every tree, seemingly unbothered by the freezing temperature. Steve hates him. A few minutes pass by before Steve is well and truly shaking in his boots, and Bucky throws an arm around his shoulder. Steve feels his face go red and tells himself it’s from the cold. He’s about to say something else about the money, because, no, they can’t really afford a tree no matter what Bucky says, but before he even opens his mouth Bucky lets out a thrilled “a ha!” and points at a selection of trees far slimmer and shorter than all the rest.

“They’re pathetic,” Steve says through chattering teeth.

“They’re perfect,” Bucky says, and this is how they end up lugging a Steve-sized tree into their tiny apartment. They had been able to afford it, much to Steve’s surprise, though he supposed it had no Christmas-tree-like qualities. Its branches were bent at bizarre angles and some were broken off, it had lost almost all of its needles, and it stood at a slant so they had to lean it between the wall and their couch. It was perfect.

“You know,” Steve says that night, eating dinner and staring at their tree. “Most trees have decorations and ours is barely green. Pretty ugly by average Christmas tree standards.”

“Okay, scrooge,” Bucky says. “Way to be in the spirit.”

“I’m more of a Tiny Tim type, I think. Small and sickly, no friends because they all kept telling him he wasn’t full of holiday cheer so he stopped talking to them.”

“Now, that’s just rude. I can’t believe I bought a tree for you,” Bucky says around a mouthful of food.

“Close your mouth. If you choke and die there won’t be anyone to buy me the ugliest tree at the lot anymore.”

“I think Tiny Tim would have had a lot more holiday cheer than you do.”

“He died, Buck.”

“But he wasn’t really dead, so, I think he wins.” Steve rolls his eyes.

-

“Our tree has no decorations,” Bucky says after dinner.

“They’re invisible. There’s a nice star on top and some real fancy ornaments on it.”

“Are you hallucinating? Are you dying?”

“No,” Steve says. “I’m getting into the holiday spirit.” Bucky grins,

“I think I can help with that.” He gets up from his place on the couch and walks back to their room and returns a minute later with a little box wrapped in newspaper.

“What happened to not doing gifts?” Steve asks, only slightly flustered.

“This doesn’t really count as a gift because it’s for both of us. Well, sort of,” Bucky says, handing him the box. “Just open it.” Steve sighs and takes it from him, pulling off the makeshift wrapping paper and opening the box. Inside, there’s a little elf in red clothes with a handpainted face and a loop of fabric attached to its head. 

“You didn’t have to get this,” Steve says quietly. “You - this was probably so expensive, and you already got the tree, and -,”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “Shut up.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Listen, I wanted to do this. I saved up for it. I know you don’t care for the holidays much without your mom here, and I figured. No one - you shouldn’t be sad on Christmas.”

“Thank you, Buck.”

“And, hey, I figure we can buy ourselves a new one every year, and by the time we’re seventy we’ll have enough for this thing to be considered a Christmas tree.”

“This - this tree is not going to make it that long. I’m not even sure it’ll be standing in the morning,” Steve says. He gets up and walks to it, ornament in hand, and Bucky follows him. Steve loops it over a branch front and center.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says, leaning on Steve’s shoulder. “I don’t think seventy years could take this tree out. A hundred, maybe.” Steve laughs,

“Alright. Well, year one is down, and it has decorations now.” Bucky glances at him, then the tree, and Steve smiles. “It’s a little perfect.”

-

It doesn’t last seventy years, and between Christmases there are serums and wars and trains, fights on bridges and helicarriers and memories lost and regained again. 

This apartment is bigger. They have more money and they go to a lot and buy the biggest tree they can find, because of all the modern things Bucky will never understand, fake trees are number one. They get it back home and put on lights and tinsel and all the ornaments Steve bought to make up for lost time.

In the end, it’s almost as perfect as a wobbly, broken tree propped up between a wall and an old couch.

“It’s nice,” Bucky says. He isn’t the same, won’t ever be, but Steve can live with that if it means keeping him around forever. 

“It’s missing something,” Steve says, and then cracks a smile. “Hold on.” He goes off to his bedroom and comes back ten minutes later, wrapped box in hand. He holds it out to Bucky, who takes it and unwraps it slowly.

“How do you still have this?” He asks, and Steve shrugs, watches as Bucky hangs it front and center on the tree. Its clothes are tattered and the paint on its face is worn off. “It’s the best one up there.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you picked it out,” Steve says. 

“Maybe,” Bucky shrugs. He looks at the little elf and smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but Steve still thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m glad you’re here, Buck,” he says, because he can’t say anything else right now no matter how badly he wants to. Glad doesn’t begin to describe it, to explain how Steve spent so long feeling like he was walking along and he was missing part of his body, like someone had taken his arm or his leg or his heart. How he could feel it even under the ice, even when there was nothing else.

“I’m glad, too,” Bucky says, and it’s a start. “You aren’t Tiny Tim anymore, you know.”

“I guess I’m not,” Steve says, and he feels whole again.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @teamcaps, i'm currently doing commissions!


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